


Refusing Metamorphosis

by havocthecat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Het, amtdi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-22
Updated: 2009-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havocthecat/pseuds/havocthecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Atlantis makes them live out their dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refusing Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on LJ](http://community.livejournal.com/havocs_cry/39577.html). Co-written with Amitee, who isn't registered here yet.

"So when is Beckett letting you out of here?" asks Ronon, striding into the infirmary. He heads directly for John's bed, where he folds himself into a nearby seat.

"As soon as possible," says John, groaning. He lets his head thump lightly back against the wall. "I can't take it any more."

"Yes, well, given that until just a few days ago you were turning into a hideous bug creature - even without the fun of a teleportation device - I think it's probably a good idea for Carson to keep you for as long as humanly possible." Rodney looks more pleased with himself than usual. "Pun, ah, not intended. But a brilliantly clever one anyway, of course."

"Oh, of course," echoes John, looking on while Ronon rolls his eyes. "So, ah, where's--"

"She said she'd be right behind us," says Ronon, twisting around to look at the door. "She forgot some stuff in the gym."

"I am here now," says Teyla, standing in the doorway and not quite meeting his eyes. Ouch. Yeah, this is-- Yeah. "I am glad to find you well."

John looks at her and grins smoothly. "Right as rain," he says, before he can't take it any more, and looks hurriedly back at Carson. "So, Doc, can I leave yet? You said I'm back to normal, right?"

"I'd still like to monitor you for another day," says Carson, checking his clipboard, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced and John thinks maybe he can use that to his advantage. Carson looks up at him and continues talking. "Make sure the last remnants of the retrovirus make their way out of your system."

"Come on, Beckett, I'm going stir-crazy in here!" says John. The wheedling voice usually works, but then again, he's never tried it just after turning into a bug.

"I can probably help with that," says Elizabeth. She's standing behind Teyla, and John isn't sure when she got there, or if she was standing back there the whole time. She's got both arms extended, her tablet held in front of her, and a diplomatic smile pasted on. He's not fooled by that smile any more. "If Carson agrees, that is."

"Ah, Elizabeth, there you are," says Carson, bustling past Ronon and Rodney to stand in front of Elizabeth. John's view of both Elizabeth and Teyla is blocked, and he doesn't crane his neck to get a glimpse of them. Much. "I suppose you're here to see if you can take Colonel Sheppard on that field trip you mentioned?"

Elizabeth nods. "I am indeed," she says, and her grin at John is as smooth as his was at Teyla, but there's a sparkle in her eyes at the mention of a field trip that has John sitting up a little straighter in bed. "How about it, John? Up for some easy work?"

"I'm up for anything if it'll get me out of this bed," John says.

"You may not be when I tell you what I've got in mind," says Elizabeth, sharing an amused glance with Teyla.

"What, you need me to do the entire expedition's laundry?" asks John, and then looks confused when Rodney rolls his eyes.

"It might be more fun," says Rodney. "I told you, Elizabeth, none of my staff can manage to figure out what that thing can do, and I've been too busy helping to cure Colonel Bug Man here--"

"Hey!" exclaims John.

"_Who_ came up with a cure?" asks Carson, looking offended.

"Yes, yes, you came up with it," says Rodney, waving his hand. "But who helped to get the Iratus bug eggs that allowed you to actually cure Sheppard?"

"All of us," says Teyla, leaning around Beckett to give Rodney a stern look that Elizabeth matches. Then she shares another one of those conspiratorially amused looks with Elizabeth, and John starts wondering what those two talk about when no one else is around. Then again, maybe he doesn't want to know, _especially_ not after the last few days. As Teyla catches him eying her, she begins to study Elizabeth's profile.

"There's a new piece of Ancient technology we've discovered in one of the farther labs," says Elizabeth. Her eyes light up, and while John is always glad to see Elizabeth get excited, does it always have to be about things that bore him to tears? "No one seems to be able to activate anything but some text to scroll through, and it seems to be a bit difficult to translate."

"So what do you expect me to do about it?" asks John, putting on a confused act.

"As you know," says Elizabeth, tilting her head and giving him that 'I know you know more than you're letting on' look, "we can't let anyone go around to the Ancient labs unescorted, even though it's a simple translation job. I've spoken with Carson, and Rodney, and we all agree that it should be safe for you to escort me there and keep me company while I work on the translation, as long as you promise to come back here when we're finished."

"You can't download it and let me keep you company in your office or someplace comfortable?" asks John. He tries to look confused, not annoyed, but it's too late. Some of the light has gone out of Elizabeth's eyes, and Teyla would be glaring at him, if she wasn't busy not noticing him in that way that said 'I'm really annoyed at you now.'

"Afraid not," says Elizabeth. "If you'd rather stay in the infirmary, I'm sure Major Lorne would be glad to keep me company."

"No, no, I'll do it." John smiles easily, watches the tense shoulders through the room start to relax.

*  
It waits, deep in Atlantis. It has been so long unused, powered down, with only a thread of awareness to know that the city that sat empty so long was occupied again. When they came to find the machine and awaken it, the machine discovered that these were not the same people from before, but explorers, children of the city's caretakers who were discovering their history.

While they search through databases and read the machine's scrolling displays, the machine searches in its own way. It discovers their dreams.

The body is Rodney's, the mind is Laura's, and she can't decipher what's gone wrong with Atlantis' systems. Everyone will die because no one can correct the malfunctions. Because Rodney's not there any more. She screwed up. Her job was to protect Rodney, and she screwed up.

Eating with Teyla in the mess, and suddenly she lunges across the table, slamming an open palm into Kate's chest, the hunger of the Wraith darkening Teyla's human eyes.

His dreams are held back by slithering hunger for embodiment, wrapping itself around every inch of him, and there is nothing at all but terrible hunger and fear.

An entire table of food, power bars and chicken and everything is delicious, whether it's Earth-based or Athosian; all of it without a single bit of citrus to be found. Rodney doesn't have to share it with anyone.

Plants everywhere, beautiful, green, glorious plants that no one from Earth has seen before.

She's back with him, blonde and real, and moving under him, her small, slight arms wrapping around him and urging him to forget. It never happened, he's home and safe, no treachery to be dealt with, no agonizing loss of everything he's ever known.

The machine exists to collect all the little bits of data lost in the subconscious, but more than that, it exists to try and make their dreams real.

*

"So, uh, this is it?" asks John.

Elizabeth nods, standing three steps into the room. "Yep."

John watches her from the doorway. He's already given the machine a once over. It's squat and kind of pretty, with faintly glowing lights and Ancient text scrolling from an upraised display screen. "Doesn't look like much."

"Mm, not really," says Elizabeth. "But we won't know anything until we get it translated."

"What's this 'we' you're talking about?" asked John. "You're the expert here."

"_You_ have the strongest connection with the city," Elizabeth replies, watching the screen. "I might need you to make it do a little more than scroll through some text."

John studies the machine, trying to figure it out based on appearance alone. He can't, so he looks over at Elizabeth, who's engrossed in the display, already making notes on what she sees. "It's not like you to suggest something so risky, Elizabeth," he says, keeping his voice light.

"From what I've read so far, all this machine seems to do is help people remember their dreams." She looks at him for a moment, and the faint light from the machine is a nimbus around her hair. He thinks it looks a little more tousled today. "Unless you have dreams you'd rather not remember," she adds, quieter.

John's never been a guy to turn down a challenge, even if it's not meant as one. He lays his hand on the console.

_The desert wind whips around him, sand scouring his face. John blinks his eyes, double-lidded, and stares unblinkingly at the rocky landscape, the downed helicopter. His sidearm is free, ready to be drawn, but all John wants to do is use his clawed hands to rend and tear. He flexes them, searching for a target. There are scents all around him, alien scents, other beings who intrude on his territory. The being in the helicopter is wounded, weakening with every gush of mammal blood that John can smell. He lifts his head, tilts it, listens to muffled grunts of pain. _

Easy prey. Easy prey means food, means life, time to find a nest, a mate.

The desert is gone. The sharp, harsh sunlight burning his eyes, searing his skin has given way to the cool, blue lights of Atlantis. He's fighting with sticks, the shock of blows traveling up his arms, violence pushing him to more violence, to hard, aching arousal, until Teyla's pushed up against the wall, shocked senseless by his mouth bruising against hers, and then his hand is shoved against Elizabeth's throat, mottled blue skin pinning her to the wall, high, the alien, insect part of him rustling at her gasps for breath, the wide, panicked hitches of breath as she stays strong, determined, even as his other hand clasps into a fist, and he lets her fall to the ground. She's naked, suddenly, her red shirt gripped tightly in his white-knuckled fist. She pushes herself up to sit, legs curled under her, and breasts swaying softly as she moves. John is down on the floor, kneeling in front of her, leaning forward, drinking in the sight.

"So, uh, yeah," he says, talking to Teyla, her eyes bright, and he's apologizing, hoping that's not contempt hidden behind her calm gaze.

It's like an electrical shock when he pulls away from the machine, and everything's a little blurry. He has to look at the console for a moment, not quite trusting himself to look at Elizabeth and think clearly when only seconds ago his subconscious had been racing through violent imagery. He swallows and then clears his throat. "That was weird," he says finally.

"What happened? Did it replay your dreams?" she asks, laying a light hand on his arm, a look of genuine interest on her face.

John rubs a shaky hand through his hair. "I don't remember ever having a dream quite like that one."

"Let me try." She's close, right there next to him, and she puts her hand down on the console before he can stop her.

*

_In the dream, Elizabeth is in her house, but it's not the same. The rooms are all the wrong colors and instead of being filled with her things, the shelves are filled with the belongings of every person who's died since they came to Atlantis. The sun is always setting, and everything looks red and wet._

In the dream, she goes into the bedroom and it's her quarters in Atlantis. The walls are still hung with the Athosian rugs, but they're different. Her subconscious has rendered them in faint greens and blues, the colors of moss and mold and stagnant cold waters. She reaches out to touch one but just keeps reaching, her fingers never connecting.

The dream spins and she's standing in front of John, in front of the shelves filled with the possessions of the dead. He smiles at her, and his mouth moves, but no words come out. Rain falls from the ceiling; she looks up, confused, and the whole room shakes.

She wakes up out of it with a start, blinking to refocus her vision. John's squinting at her. She thinks he looks a little pale, but that could just be the dizziness as it fades out. "You okay?" he asks. "It did it to you too, didn't it?"

"Maybe we shouldn't touch it anymore," she says, and takes a step backwards away from the flashing panel.

"Somehow I don't think that's going to help," he replies, and the end of his sentence fades out as the machine pulls her in again.

_John again, still trying to tell her something, but she can't understand what the words mean. His hands are on her arms, her hands on his waist. His mouth on her mouth. The only source of warmth in the room is his skin, and her fingertips burn into his waist. She pushes closer to him, trying to warm herself again, keeping the cold, clammy chill of the water away. Hears him moan something softly but she can't make it out. "What?" her dream-self asks him. He doesn't answer, just nuzzles at her neck and slides his hands up her shirt._

"Elizabeth!" John says, and yeah, that's real. She raises her hands and rubs at her face, feeling like she's trying to scrub away what the machine had just showed her. "Are you all right?" he asks, quieter this time, and she thinks that his intense gaze is kind of becoming, as if she'd maybe like him to look at her more often. Elizabeth shakes her head, trying to snap herself out of it, wonders what the hell is going on.

"I'm fairly certain I haven't had that dream before," she whispers to John, and her skin is still tingling in the places her mind had imagined him touching. He raises an eyebrow, puts a hand on her arm, and Elizabeth has to bite her lip to stifle her moan.

"What's wrong?"

"The machine..." she starts, and trails off when John rubs his thumb over her bicep in what she's sure he's thinking is a comforting manner. "God, John," she murmurs.

"What is it? Elizabeth?"

*

"Should I call Carson?" he continues, worried that the machine has done something serious to her. He reaches for his radio. "I'll call Carson -"

"No, no, I'm fine," Elizabeth says, and smiles. "Let's just see what else we can find out about the machine. Without, you know, touching it too much." She half-laughs and takes a step back from him and the console. Then she sways a little like she's going to fall, and without realizing he's doing it, he slides an arm around her waist. Elizabeth turns in his arms and touches her lips to his. John starts, a little shocked.

"Sorry -"

"No, it's -"

"I didn't -"

John kisses her again, because it's way better than strange bug dreams, or Afghanistan, or Crime and Punishment. Elizabeth's hands skim over his back and she smells really good and John feels _alive_ for the first time in weeks. "Come here," he whispers, and tugs her down to sit next to him on the floor, then pulls her into his lap.

*

The machine leaves its half-aware state and comes fully to life, its display sending glimmers of watery blue and green light across their skin. Elizabeth looks at in wonder. "Do you think this is really what it's for?" she asks John, hurriedly, as she tries to unbuckle his belt. There are too many things going on in her mind right now, she's feeling overwhelmed. John's hands are skimming over her waist.

Slowly, much too slowly for her and for Atlantis, she and John peel off their clothes, those annoying barriers, and when John's bare skin slides against hers, she can't hold back her moan. He presses his mouth to her neck and she lets her head fall back against the floor. John looms over her, his hands sweeping over her hips. He's asking something but she doesn't know what. All she knows is that she's never felt like she needed this as badly in her entire life as she does right now. The hum in her mind is getting stronger every second. "Please," she whispers, hooking her leg around the back of her knee. "Now."

John slides into her and the hum evens out as she wraps herself around him, barely conscious of what her body is doing beyond the driving need to just _do_. His breath is hot on her cheek. She thinks his hands are going to slip on the smooth floor.

 

*

The alcove is mostly dark when John opens his eyes. He feels groggy and hungover, like he'd had a couple six-packs all to himself, or maybe Ronon kicked his ass in the gym. When he rubs at his eyes, it all comes flooding back. Having Elizabeth curled against his chest helps with the remembering. She's still out cold. Her hair smells good.

He glances up at the machine. It's still on, but it's returned to the state it was in when they first got here. The scrolling text display is barely lit. It figures that the Ancients would have the technology to force a person to face the subconscious ideas that only surface during their dreams. He guesses it would be useful if he'd been dreaming the cosmological constant, but not so useful when his dreams are jumbles of bug-self and his boss naked. He wonders if Atlantis had paid attention to what they'd done, and decides that whole line of thought is pretty creepy. He doesn't want to think about the idea that it was the city that made them do this. John's a big advocate of free will when it comes to sex.

Elizabeth stirs and wakes up with a groan. "John? What?"

"How's your head?" he asks, because it's the first thing he can think of to say.

"Like a herd of elephants are trapped inside," she groans. "Why are we - oh, god."

"Yep."

She struggles out of his embrace and John hands over her t-shirt. He pulls his own over his head. Elizabeth doesn't meet his gaze until they're both dressed again, and even then she only looks at him for a few seconds at a time. "Are you all right?" he asks softly. He touches her wrist and she jumps a little. "Breathe, Elizabeth."

"I'm fine," she says in that automatic voice, and John can see her school her face back into the neutral diplomat's expression. "It's been several hours, the others will start to wonder what's happened to us," she continues crisply.

"Elizabeth."

"What?"

He's not exactly sure what he wants to say. "You don't need to pretend this didn't happen," he murmurs finally.

"Yes, we do." When Elizabeth says those words so quietly he can barely hear them, John can't stop from looking hurt. It doesn't matter; she isn't looking anyway. She's reaching down for her tablet, and when she picks up her pen, she watches it as she twists it in her hand. She waits a long moment before looking up at him again. "We _have_ to, John. Our positions on this expedition--"

"Right," he says, spitting out the words. "Our positions." He's leaning into her personal space and furious they've been driven to this. "One of these days you're going to wake up and remember that our _positions_ don't call for self-denial, Elizabeth."

She narrows her eyes as she looks at him. "I disagree," she says. "As the individual personally responsible to the IOA and the President, I disagree. I have to be impartial."

She has to be impartial, even if she's not.

It lingers in the air between them, adding new weight to the awkward situation. They don't talk again; Elizabeth makes up reasons - excuses - as they walk to the infirmary together. John won't leave her side, even when she tries to stop at her office.

She can't decide if she hates him for showing he cares that much when they can't be together.

*

Later, she and John say they can't remember what happened in the dream machine's alcove. That it was all a blur of manipulated images, perhaps, or an alteration of brain waves to force them into a dream state - Carson is concerned about their EEG readings when they arrive in the infirmary - or maybe it hadn't happened at all.

John tries to offer a shared dream explanation, shrugging his shoulders and not meeting her eyes when he says it. Carson believes them. He shakes his head and wanders away to look at test results, leaving them alone with Teyla, who gives them a speculative look. Elizabeth wonders if she believes them. She wonders if Teyla realizes what happened and knows how much they remember.

She orders research on the machine stopped, overriding protests from both Carson and Kate, who think it has use as a therapeutic tool. She files the reports in a little-used folder in her computer and doesn't read them again.

If Elizabeth's dreams of John from then on are a little more heated, a little more vivid, she tells herself it's only natural. She wants to believe it's a reaction to a lack of physical contact for so long. She sees him stroll casually into their briefings on the mornings she wakes aching with desire. If he slouches into his chair on those days and watches her with a hunger she recognizes, she pretends not to notice.

If John still shares her dreams - and his actions during those early morning briefings make her think he does - Elizabeth doesn't dwell on it.

She can't let herself have what she wants. She can only have unfulfilled dreams.

\--end--


End file.
